


the eagle & his wings

by moonlitserenades



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, that's it just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitserenades/pseuds/moonlitserenades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From this prompt:</p><p>“i work at a little market/store and u came up to the register with a candy bar but didn’t have enough money to pay for the entire thing. but don’t worry, i got you, fam” au</p>
            </blockquote>





	the eagle & his wings

Joly muffles a yawn, slumping slightly forward over the counter. The notebook in his lap slides, threatening to fall, and he lets out a little yelp and slaps his hand on top of it to catch it. His eyes are smarting from a combination of staring down at his own cramped writing and the too-bright fluorescent lighting of the all-night CVS where he works. At least, he muses, there aren’t usually many people coming in during the graveyard shift and he can nap or study as needed. (Mostly studying, if he’s being honest with himself.)

“Good catch,” says someone, quietly. Joly’s head jerks up, and his eyes go wide. The guy standing there is tall and lithe, with skin like milk chocolate and a completely bald head. He’s beautiful, and Joly briefly entertains the notion that he’s either asleep or hallucinating. 

“Um,” he says, cheerfully. 

“Um,” he agrees. “Sorry. I feel kinda bad it’s so late.”

“Nono, don’t apologize,” Joly chirps. “I’m working anyway.” 

“It’s just been kind of a Day,” he adds, conversationally, and slides a bottled latte and a package of Twix across the counter. 

“Sorry.” Joly twists his mouth sympathetically. “Want to talk about it?”

“Eh.” The guy shrugs. “That’s okay. Nothing too awful. Thanks, though.”

“Sure.” Joly rings up the coffee and Twix. “It’s $6.24.”

“‘kay.” He digs into the pocket of his jacket. A small crease appears between his eyebrows, and Joly fights the insane urge to smooth it away. He never gets like this, but there’s somehow something both gorgeous and unfairly adorable about this guy. Also, he doesn’t recall the last time he slept, which might have something to do with it. He tries the other pocket. Then each of the pockets of his jeans. “Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re probably not going to believe me,” he says, wincing, “but I can’t find my wallet.” He looks despondent. 

“Oh, no, when was the last time you saw it?”

“I don’t know. I thought it was in the pocket of this jacket, but it might’ve fallen out before I even left my room. Hopefully.”

“Do you have a roommate you can call or something, to ask them to look for it? To put your mind at ease?” Joly presses a few buttons, bags the stuff, and pushes it back across the counter. 

“He’s not in, and his cell is dead.” The guy blinks at the bag. “What--?”

“I’ll cover it.” He smiles.

“No, hey, you don’t have to do that,” he blurts out. 

“Really, it’s nothing. If it improves your day a little, I’m more than happy to do it.”

A look of absolute wonder crosses the guy’s face. “Well, it’s improved my day a _lot_.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Bossuet, by the way.”

Joly shakes it, trying not to look too affected. “Joly.” 

“Jolllllly,” he repeats, drawing it out playfully and beaming. “It suits you.”

“Thanks!”

Bossuet grabs the bag, and then opens and closes his mouth three times in quick succession as though trying to figure what to say. “So listen,” he says finally, and Joly tilts his head in what Grantaire insists on calling Joly’s Universal Listening/Empathy Pose™. It seems to calm him slightly, which just proves the overall effectiveness of it. “If this is totally inappropriate, you can just say good night, and I’ll get your point and leave.”

“I’m intrigued.” He lets a shade of teasing color his tone. Bossuet laughs nervously. 

“I was just thinking...maybe I could take you out for coffee or something, to say thank you.”

Joly bites his lip, in a desperate attempt to look at least a little cool about this. “You don’t have to--” (and, when Bossuet’s face falls a little) “--I mean, I’m saying yes, but you don’t have to feel obligated.”

“It’s possible that that was an excuse, because I think you’re really cute.” He’s bright as the sun, beaming and delighted, and Joly, suddenly, cannot imagine denying him anything. 

“It’s possible that I would’ve said yes regardless of your reasons.” 

Bossuet lets out a laugh like a bell. “When are you free?”

“I get out of class at three tomorrow,” he offers, scribbling his number on the piece of paper that would have been Bossuet’s receipt and passing it over.

Bossuet lets his fingers linger a little against Joly’s when he says, “It’s a date.”


End file.
